


Mentor

by ultharkitty



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-29
Updated: 2011-12-29
Packaged: 2017-10-28 10:19:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultharkitty/pseuds/ultharkitty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wheeljack tries to convince Prowl to mentor one of his new creations.</p><p>Written for darkdanc3r over on DW, for merfilly's 2011 <a href="http://the-fic-trader.dreamwidth.org/24004.html">gift exchange</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mentor

"You wish for me to be Streetwise’s... mentor?" Prowl made the exact same face as when Wheeljack had explained about equipping the Dinobots with oral flamethrowers. Ratchet leaned against the door jamb and folded his arms; this should be entertaining.

Wheeljack nodded. "You're a cop car, he's a cop car..." He shrugged, as though that was any explanation.

"Similarity in alt mode does not imply similarity in temperament," Prowl said.

“Sure it does!” Wheeljack lied. “It’s like… it’s like Sunny and Sides!”

Prowl shook his head, and Ratchet shifted sideways to block part of the doorway. He wouldn’t prevent Prowl from leaving, but he was happy to give off ‘it’s politer to stay in the workshop’ vibes until Wheeljack had finished.

“Well, obviously not _like_ Sunny and Sides,” Wheeljack conceded. “More like… like Prime and Ultra Magnus!”

There was the briefest of pauses before Prowl replied. “They’re not actually all that similar.”

“Which is _kinda_ like two different models of cop car, right?” But when Wheeljack saw Prowl’s expression, his winglets drooped and his shoulders slumped. He huffed, and adopted the pose that Ratchet always thought of as ‘kicked cyberpuppy’.

Ratchet sent the inventor a coded ‘that’s not going to work’, but there was no sign he was paying attention.

“I modeled him on you,” Wheeljack said, as though he had given up. He picked up a chunk of machinery from a bench and turned it around; the complex surfaces glittered with copper and gold. “Not the logic add-ons or that tactical stuff, but the core programming. I wanted him to be the best he could possibly be.”

“You modeled him on _me?_ ” Prowl’s jaw dropped and his doors swayed, and for a moment it looked as though Wheeljack might have won. Then Prowl sighed. “I’m flattered, Wheeljack, really I am. But the fact remains, I simply don’t have the time to mentor your creation.”

“Sure you do!” Wheeljack perked up again. “He can follow you around like that shadowing thing Spike had to do that time. He won’t get in the way. C'mon," he urged, his facial fins flashing. "It'll be great. He's brand new! You'll get to tell him all that scrap you like tellin' people, only he'll listen 'cause he ain't us!"

Ratchet suppressed a snicker as Prowl frowned.

"You don’t appear to have grasped the fact that my time is _limited_."

"So?" Wheeljack countered. "Hot Spot's gone off with Optimus, First Aid's paired up with Ratchet, Beachcomber's agreed to mentor Groove, and Silverbolt's taken on Blades. Don’t tell me they have all the time in the universe! It's just Streetwise left." He put the chunk of machinery down and grabbed a datapad from the work surface behind him. He flicked it on and held it up to Prowl's face. "Ain't he just the smartest little new-build you ever did see?"

Prowl gave the datapad due consideration. “You did a good job. But emotional blackmail never was your strong point, Wheeljack. The fact remains, I have a full schedule."

"Y’know,” Wheeljack said, “he asked for you."

Prowl looked from the datapad to Wheeljack and back again. "He did?"

Wheeljack nodded. "He's read all about you. He’s really looking forward to it. Look, he even wrote you this little note." He tapped the screen and a line of text flashed up. “See, he wants to be just like you!”

Ratchet covered his smirk with his hand; Prowl was struggling not to smile.

“He’s in the lab with Perceptor,” Wheeljack said. “If you wanna go say ‘hi’.”

Prowl huffed, and it was the fondly exasperated ex-vent of a tactician who knew he’d been outmaneuvered. At last, he stopped trying to hide his smile. “All right,” he said. “I’ll do it.”


End file.
